A Nocturne
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Baxter and Molesley, over a progression of night-times.
1. Chapter 1

The first night he comes to her, they hold each other like children, lying together in her bed, the night enveloping them both in velvet darkness. Her dark hair loose and spilling over both their shoulders.

They had both decided together that they should do it. An almost silent negotiation was made. Neither of them really liked being alone in the dark.

"Would you let me come to you?" he had asked her quietly, furtively, as they stood alone downstairs in the servants' hall, "After hours."

Her eyes widened a touch at the suggestion.

As they agreed, she slipped out of her room, took the key from the latch by the door, unlocked it and returned to her bed. Her heart was hammering almost out of her chest. It was fifteen minutes before she saw the light from the corridor as her door opened just a fraction and he slipped inside.

She looked up at him through the darkness.

"Do you want me to turn on the light?" she whispered.

"No, it's alright," he told her, "I can see you. I can see your eyes. They're shining."

She smiled up at him. He was standing at the side of her bed. She shuffled to the side, allowing him the space he needed. Before he put his feet up on the bed, he reached down and put something on the floor.

"What's that?" she asked him.

"My wash bag," he told her, "I thought, if Mr. Carson saw me in the corridor-…"

"Good thinking," she told him.

She lifted the blanket up and over him. It was then that it occurred to her that they had never discussed why, precisely, he had come to her, only that he would. The time for that would have probably been before she wrapped him up in her bedclothes. But he too was looking uncertain.

"Phyllis," he asked her, murmuring her first name softly into the dark, "Can I hold you?"

She smiled, reaching her arms out for him.

"Yes, of course."

They don't do this every night. Only when they have the nerve to, they do not want to be caught out. There is an unspoken signal, a certain look, they exchange in the evenings letting each other know that tonight will be one of the nights they don't sleep until they are lying together.

He has come to love the darkness now. The darkness is the softness of her, and her smooth hair, and softness whiteness of her body, her touches. And the tenderness of her kisses, because now they kiss, softly, as he comes to lie beside her.

His hands gently clutch the soft fabric of her nightdress which dips down in a crescent, showing him to the sweep of her collarbone and the flatness of her breastbone. He tries to show her with his eyes, through the darkness, how beautiful she is to him because he knows his mind, his throat, cannot articulate the words. He tries to tell her in the way his lips touch hers.

Somewhere along the line, their kisses cease to feel chaste. She holds him a little more tightly against her. It is still comforting to be with her, but it is a different kind of comfort. And that is when he knows he has to tell her, no matter how difficult it is for him to get the words out.

"I love you, Phyllis."

She meets his eyes. She is not smiling, but he knows she means to. She is serious.

"I love you too, Joseph."

Her arms are around his neck and she pulls herself even closer to him. That night he falls asleep with her legs wrapped around his, his face resting against her breasts.

The next time he comes to her he finds the bedside light is on in her room. She is sitting up in bed. Instead of her white cotton nightdress she is wearing something he has never seen before; grey silk, thin straps over her shoulders. Her legs are largely bare, bent at the knee, hugged to her chest. She looks shyly up at him through the parting of her beautiful, thick hair. He is overwhelmed that this is for him. Once more, he curses himself that he cannot find the words for how happy he is to be here with her like this. But she sees. Timidly, her smile trembles back into her face. As he walks towards her, she shuffles so she can kneel up and meet him when he reaches her bedside.

"I'm in love with you," she whispers before their mouths touch.

Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down to the bed with her.

In time, his dressing gown and pyjamas join his wash bag where he left it on the floor. She bends her leg at the knee again, wrapping them around his waist, tilting her hips, encouraging him to push into her. They make love as quietly as they can. They try desperately to be gentle with one another, but in the end it becomes fraught, desperate. Her hand clutches the back of his head.

"I'm in love with you too," he whispers, breathless.

They capitulate together, and the beautiful darkness shallows them both.

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I know I said this had ended but there was a request for more. Also I wrote this with a blinding headache, I hope it makes sense.**

This is a nocturne for insomnia. They cannot sleep when they are apart and they do not sleep when they are together.

He comes to her bed as often as they dare. He has become almost used to her body opening for him like a flower, blossoming dark and passionate colours in the night. That doesn't mean it has ceased to make him tremble, or that he craves it any the less.

It pains him that they have to be so quiet. He wants to be able to tell her the thinks she makes him feel, now that he has finally found the words- so many words- to voice it, he wants to be able to hear the sounds that correspond to the snatches of the looks he catches on her face as they make love. He wants to be able to hear that sound she's stifling when her back arches she presses the back of her hand to her mouth.

He loves watching her in her dark uniform, with her dark hair, in the light of the servants' hall. It reminds him of the darkness in which she swallows him up. It's a miracle no one else has caught the look on his face as he watches her in these moments, only her. She gives him her smile for a moment, letting him know she know what he is thinking about.

It is no secret to her that he has never loved a woman before. She tells him that that is the very last thing she cares about.

"Besides, you're the only man I've ever been in love with either, so what real difference does it make?"

They have these little conversations in the moments in between times when no one else is in the servants' hall. They know they should be more careful, that Thomas could be lurking round the corner at any given moment, but some things have to be said, actually articulated out loud, and made plain.

The nights when he can come to her become beyond bliss, the most merciful release. He cannot allow himself to think about them until they are happening; their prospect is overpowering. He wonders if everyone who is in love feels like this.

The languid movements of her lithe, white limbs not longer seem like a mystery to him; he recognises even the most beautiful patterns they form and draw as they enclose him and bring him to her. He has always loved the sight of her hair, he is allowed into its smell now, the silken feel of it beneath his fingers and against his face.

Lying together with her is so familiar, he had done it, he had held her close to him in the dark before he had even kissed her. He bestows kisses to her now enough to make up for it.

He learns gradually, steadily about the secrets her body possesses. He'd never been with a woman before but neither of them lets that be an obstacle. She knows what she is doing and he lets her take the lead, lets her sit straddling his legs, his waist, lets her kiss him in ways that make him wish they didn't have to be so damned quiet.

He has never been possessed by a person, never been able to let anyone pull him apart like she does with the utmost languid gentleness.

He counts down the seconds until they can meet again, savours the memory of being able to all sense of time in the dark with her.

And it is one such moment, when time and the sight of everything other than her is gone that he gasps out into the blankness,

"Phyllis, marry me."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	3. Chapter 3

The way she learns to love him is, at first, blindly. Long before he ever touches her ben linen she loves him body and soul but, at first, it's-…oh, just the goodness of people, the goodness of a man, this man, to her; well beyond what she has allowed herself to believe in for a long time. When she catches the way he looks at her in the servants' hall when they finally, finally become lovers she can return them entirely. But she loved him from the inside first. To be honest, she doesn't care how old he looks, she'd never really given it much thought.

He is good, and he is strong. He is strong in more ways than she'd given him credit for, even when she was there on that beach, singing his praises. She has been lifted in his arms, carried to her own bed, spun around and draped on the sheets as if she weighed nothing more than a feather- he insists in a whisper that she doesn't when she tells him as much.

Being in love with the person who has come to infatuate your body is such an unbelievable blessed thing. She cannot believe it. She hankers for the nights that they spend together as much for a need for assurance that he will return to her, that he will remain hers, as out of physical need for him. It is so rare, she cannot understand, someone as good as he is wanting her, there must have been some colossal mistake-…

But he returns, again and again, dependably and eagerly. The relief she feels, when she is lying in her bed, when she sees the crack of light as her bedroom opens. He is back, they haven't been caught out, the door has closed behind them. But most importantly of all, he still wants to be with her, still wants her. And this is the purest, unquestionably the strongest love she has ever felt.

She hadn't gone into this expecting the love affair of a lifetime, of several lifetimes, but, she struggles to remind herself, that is what it transpires she's going to get. The stuff young girls go mad over. If she wasn't so entirely convinced of his honesty, she would truly struggle to believe that he'd never had a lover before. He was so gentle with her, as the thought of hurting her inhibited him. Gods, she almost had to persuade him that it was alight to take from her too-…

She clutches his face in her hands, in the dark, holding him to her, kissing his lips desperately. She knows he hates how quiet they have to be, and she couldn't agree more; she longs to moan against his mouth, out loud, to let him know, in the moment, that it feels so good, like nothing has ever felt before. They love each other in the dark, almost without sight and it seems so unfair that they must also be deprived of sound.

Until, one night, he asks her a certain question, to which she finds herself gasping;

"Yes, of course. Oh, yes."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	4. Chapter 4

They hold each other all that night. Usually he will stay for a little while and then slowly disentangle himself, gently kiss her, caress her for one last time. Not tonight; it is her who gets out of bed, begins to wash her face, and dress. For the first time they have allowed themselves to fall asleep together, and she knows he will have to leave, almost immediately or someone will spot him leaving her room, and she knows "We're going to get married" will sound a lot better than "Mrs Hughes said we have to get married" but for one brief moment she wants to watch him there, in the dawning light, in the bed they have shared together many times. He rolls over a little, waking, though still very drowsy, moving into the warmth she leaves behind her. When he opens his eyes it is to the sight of her standing in her slip at the washbasin, her hair untidy, falling down her back, smiling at him. She steps softly back to the bed, kneels down by its side so that she can kiss him.

"It's nice having you here for a whole night," she told him quietly, "But if you don't go now I think we'll be announcing our engagement with Mr Carson watching us very sternly."

He let out a quiet sigh.

"You're probably right."

Getting out of bed, he stepped back into his pyjamas and she thinks for a minute it is almost strange to see his body in the even half light. She smiles, thinking that it almost certainly won't be strange for very long.

As he turns to go, he turns back to her, clasping her hand in his for a second.

"You are sure?" he asked her.

She squeezed his fingers for a moment in hers.

"Of course I'm sure," she replied, "You make me feel safe."

**End. **

**(And it actually is the end this time)**

**Please review if you have the time.**


End file.
